


Beggars Can’t Be

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arthur Ketch Takes Care of Castiel, Cas Gets Hurt But He Gets Better, Castiel (Supernatural) Whump, Castiel gets shot, Gen, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 06:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ketch tells Cas he has a lead on something than can protect Dean from Michael.  He makes it sound so simple.And yet Cas still ends up gut shot, bleeding out in the back of his truck, relying on Ketch to dig an angel bullet out of his stomach.





	Beggars Can’t Be

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly graphic wound treatment. Ketch is an asshole, but he looks after Cas in this (probably because he knows Dean would kill him if he didn’t).

“You’re being ridiculous,” Ketch said. “And you’re bleeding _everywhere_.”

If Cas had the energy, and didn’t think Dean would have been annoyed at him, he would have smote Ketch where he stood.

But at that moment it seemed just too much effort, and so he settled for shooting the human a waspish look as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“It’s not your truck,” he snapped. As if Ketch would care if Cas leaked his whole blood volume, provided none of it went on his _suit_.

He snarled when Ketch tugged the keys from his hand and stepped back, seemingly unfazed by furious angels.

“It’s my life,” he said. “You are not driving in that condition, and I am not being the one to tell the Winchesters that I stood by and let their halo bleed to death without doing anything to prevent it.”

Cas gripped the steering wheel tight, hearing it creak in his hands, as an alternative to squeezing Ketch’s neck and because it helped with the pain.

“I won’t die,” he grated out, but he was weakened, and that wouldn’t get any better as long as the angel bullet was lodged in his abdomen, as long as he kept bleeding.

Worst case scenario, he would lose enough blood to go into shock, or pass out, and the thought of being even more vulnerable in Ketch’s presence was intolerable.

But he was out of options; his condition worsening was inevitable, but he could feel the bullet was too far in for him to dig it out himself as he had done once before.

Years back, when his reservoir of Grace was a hundred times what it was now.

He looked at Ketch, and could see the human had come to the same conclusion and was, infuriatingly, waiting him out.

Cas jerked his head towards the back seat. “There’s a first aid kit there,” he said.

“There’s a good little halo,” Ketch said, and pulled Cas out of the driver’s seat before urging him to lie down in the back

Moving hurt, and Ketch wasn’t especially gentle, but Cas was used to detaching himself from pain. 

And imagining, once it had been retrieved, making Ketch eat that bullet certainly helped.

++

Cas had been only two hours from home when Ketch had called him.

He’d considered hanging up, or letting the call go to voicemail, but it might be important, something to help them with the Michael situation.

Or Ketch might genuinely be in trouble and, though Cas had no time or affection for him, the former Man of Letters had helped Dean, and he had saved Gabriel.

It didn’t erase his prior misdeeds, but Cas knew Dean had come to think of Ketch as an ally, and would probably prefer him _not_ dead.

So he’d answered, and Ketch had greeted him with his usual disdain.

And explained that he required the halo’s assistance.

Because he’d discovered the existence of an artefact that might protect Dean from Michael for just a little longer.

All they had to do was go and get it.

He’d made it sound so simple, and Cas had been sure that meant it would be anything but.

He’d been right.

++

“Mr Willoughby was better prepared than i expected,” Ketch said.

He selected a narrow set of forceps from the first aid kit and held them up to the truck’s interior light.

“I suppose sanitising this is unnecessary.”

Cas had untucked his shirt, and pulled it up enough to expose the bullet hole in his abdomen.

“You suppose right,” he said. “Get on with it.”

Ketch gave him an arch look, and then slipped the ends of the forceps inside Cas with a barely disguised glee.

Cas grit his teeth, determined to make not a single sound that would give Ketch any satisfaction. Part of him still wondered if Ketch had knowingly blundered them into that situation; the man might be an immoral murderer, but he was not a fool, and Cas had trouble believing Ketch had underestimated someone who, it had turned out, was a former Man of Letters himself.

So it was no wonder he’d had various weapons in his disposal, including a gun loaded with bullets forged from molten angel blades; clearly, Crowley wasn’t the first person to come up with that idea.

Of course, Cas hadn’t realised that until the old man had fired at him, and the round had punched right into his stomach.

Ketch had snapped Willoughby’s neck while Cas lay there, panting, and broke into the wall safe where this _artefact_ would be, only to find it contained nothing but cash and papers.

He’d searched the small house, thoroughly, but without success, and he could hardly question the man he’d just murdered.

So it had been for nothing; that hurt worse than Ketch digging around inside his stomach.

Cas would have endured being shot a hundred times in exchange for something to save Dean, but it didn’t mean he’d give up.

There was a way to protect Dean; they just hadn’t found it. Yet.

He had to swallow down a groan, as Ketch poked at something not designed to be poked, and received a desultory apology.

“I do believe it’s shifted,” he said, and pushed in a little further.

“I _do believe_ ,” Cas said, grabbing Ketch’s hand and tilting it, though it felt like being shot all over again, so the forceps were up against the bullet, “that you were just digging around in the wrong place.”

He felt the prongs grab the bullet, and Ketch very slowly, carefully, removed the forceps with the glinting bullet in their grasp.

He held it up to examine as if it were some interesting new discovery.

“Our resourcefulness always was our strength,” he said.

Cas rolled his eyes, and grabbed a dressing and some tape from the first aid kit. It’d take a little time for his Grace to heal such a wound, and in the meantime he had to get back to his family.

Ketch tugged the items from his hands. “What exactly are you doing?”

Cas didn’t have the energy to argue and slumped back on the seat. 

He held still as Ketch carefully taped the dressing in place, and then put everything away, before grabbing a blanket and draping it over him.

“What exactly are _you_ doing?” Cas said.

Ketch gave him an odd look. “Returning Dean’s property,” he said, and then he shook Cas’s keys at him before getting in behind the wheel.

Dean’s _property_?

Cas glared at Ketch as he turned the truck around so they could head back.

“You’re leaving your car,” he pointed out.

Ketch didn’t even look back at the abandoned vehicle. “I never said it was my car. Now why don’t you call Dean, there’s a good halo, because if we just walk in with you covered in blood and sporting a bandage, presuming you haven’t healed up by then, he’ll have quite the turn.”

Cas slid his phone out of his pocket. Quite the turn. When he found out what they’d been up to, Cas was pretty sure he’d rather get shot again than face Dean’s reaction.

After all this time, Dean still didn’t seem to realise that he was worth Cas’s entire existence, and that there was nothing Cas wouldn’t do to keep him safe.

Maybe one day, Dean would see himself as Cas did, as Sam did. 

But until then, Cas would just keep trying to show him.

He dialled Dean’s number, waited for the call to connect.

“Hello, Dean.”


End file.
